Tales from Band Camp
by Chaos-chick3
Summary: Can bandies survive band camp if the band director hates them? Or, for that matter, why would a band director hate bandies? Please read and review!


"Ok, you guys can have a 15 minute break; be back in your seats at 11:00!"

Hearing this announcement from their band director, most of the students scattered, putting their instruments down and heading outside. Jasmine stayed put, as did a few of her friends, instead of joining the mass migration out of the band room. More interesting things awaited them – Mozart, for one. And Bach.

They sorted through the music in her folder, laughing with giddy delight at memories triggered by pieces played two years ago, a few words written in the untidy scrawl of their former section leader, an old intonation chart.

"Jasmine!" Amber screamed with delight. "Isn't this Elliot's intonation chart from freshman year? He was so mad when he couldn't find it!"

"Omigosh, it is!" crowed Jasmine. "I took it to copy, and then I never returned it!" She lowered her voice and added, in a conspiratorial whisper, "He forgot that I had it, so he never found out!"

"You're horrible!" Amber gasped. "So, you mean all that time he was looking for it-"

"-it was right in my folder!" finished Jasmine, and the two burst into giggles.

In the midst of their mirth, Jasmine glanced up suddenly to find her band director eyeing her the way one eyes a lunatic or a large and extremely dangerous animal that has just escaped from the zoo. She didn't know what she had done to warrant such a look, but she didn't care either. Her band director was a strange, strange man, with a fondness for purple-checked boxers, creepy glass-green eyes, and protruding ears that were nearly perpendicular to his head. Often, as she sat in band listening to other sections practice tediously, she wondered if those ears were useful to him in his profession. Over the course of two years though, she came to the conclusion that they were probably not, as he seemed deaf to the constant stream of chatter coming from the french horns and didn't seem to realize that three-quarters of the clarinet section couldn't play their parts.

Not five seconds after giving them the odd glance, Mr. Stevens got up and hurried out of the band room, presumably because he had work to do in his office. Amber, who had also caught the look, turned to Jasmine. They both opened their mouths to comment on it, and burst into laughter.

"Did you see that?" Amber asked, giggling. Still cracking up too much to speak, Jasmine nodded, confirming her observation wordlessly. Amber continued, bewilderment evident even through the amusement in her voice. "What did we do? I didn't do anything weird!"

"I know, we're just looking at music!" Jasmine exclaimed indignantly.

Amber shrugged. "Maybe it was because we're still sitting here and everyone's left?"

"I guess that's it…" Jasmine agreed dubiously. "Perhaps he's unused to people practicing during break?"

"Yeah, go bandies!" Amber hollered, producing another bout of mad giggles and laughter.

When they finally had their hilarity in check, they turned their attention to the music in front of them, playing whatever interested them. As bits and pieces of "Chicago" and "Sleigh Ride" mingled with a Mozart concerto and Bach, more and more weird looks were cast in their direction. All too soon, break was over.

Mr. Stevens stood before the band, surveying the young teenagers slouched in various expressions of apathy or exhaustion. His gaze skimmed over his favorites, Sabrina and Janie, who were both chatting together and twisting locks of hair around their perfectly manicured forefingers. Sabrina's french horn teetered precariously on her lap; luckily, she reached out and grabbed the bell before he was forced to say anything. Nobody seemed to be paying much attention except for the two rapt clarinetists in the front row, Amber and Jasmine. He didn't look at them now; frankly, he found their dedication unsettling, especially when neither was interested in pursuing music as a career. He gave a mental shrug and relegated the thought to the back of his mind with the other bothersome things he didn't like thinking about, like reimbursing the students for their aborted trip to New York or the obviously unbalanced distribution of parts that resulted from his refusal to assign them.

"Everybody stand up!" he shouted cheerfully, fixing a smile to his face and ignoring the groans coming from everyone (nearly everyone, that is; Amber and Jasmine fairly bounced to their feet, and he had to repress a shudder at their enthusiasm. How could they possibly love band so much?). "Breathe in for eight beats and out eight, ready? Moniters up!" He snapped his fingers to the beat as the students brought their hands to their faces and started the breathing exercises. "In four, out four, ready, go!" he said, and the students altered their breathing accordingly. They continued through twos, then ones, before finally reaching the last part. "Eighth notes! One-and-two-and-three-and-go!" He beamed, still snapping his fingers as he watched the students hyperventilating on his command. In the front row, Amber and Jasmine were sucking air diligently; Barry, a sax player, was leaning against the wall, red faced, while others were swaying slightly. When it looked like everyone was dizzy and on the verge of collapse, he stopped. "Ok, sit down!"

The students fell into their seats, many breathing deeply through their noses or clutching their aching heads. The buzz of conversation rose as they commiserated with their neighbors and complained to each other. Mr. Stevens waited a few seconds before issuing his next order.

"Head outside, line up in rows of six in front of the library! You have five minutes!" He hurried into his office immediately after making this announcement; he had to finish all the paperwork he had put off over the summer before school started.

Five minutes later, the band was milling about in the parking lot in front of the library. Some people simply continued their conversations where they'd left off, while underclassmen huddled anxiously, not knowing where to go. In the midst of the crowd, Amber and Jasmine were trying to herd the clarinets into rows.

"Ok, clarinets over here! We're the second section in the band, after the flutes!" called Jasmine, waving some terrified-looking freshmen over.

"Line up, upperclassmen on the outside!" said Amber. She faltered a minute, looking questioningly toward Jasmine. "Was it rows of six or seven?"

"Um…six, I think. Yeah, six," answered Jasmine.

Their efforts seemed to be in vain; the freshmen refused to leave the comfort of their clusters to spread out in rows, while the rest of the band simply didn't want to line up. Finally, after ten minutes, Mr. Stevens came hurrying out of the building and the band started moving.

Two hours later, all of the students were back inside and in their seats, moaning in pain. Some of the more dramatic percussionists were sprawled on the floor, and not even Amber or Jasmine looked as if they could walk another step. Mr. Stevens had forced them all to march around and around the school, pushing them relentlessly until the entire band was staggering and out of step. Only then had he allowed them to march back into the building.

"Come on, you guys, that's pathetic!" he exclaimed, glaring at the panting students. "You weren't even playing your instruments! We're going to be marching for four hours in our first parade, you know." At this, a wave of groans rose, but he ignored them and turned his attention to the percussionists slumped on the floor. "Get up, you can't be that tired! Look, Sabrina and Janie are fine, there's no reason why you shouldn't be!"

David, one of the percussionists in question, objected indignantly. "But Mr. Stevens! They weren't even marching for half of it!"

This was quite true, as the two horn players had asked to use the restroom after the first twenty minutes, and then had spent the remaining time preening in front of the bathroom mirror. However, since they were his favorites, Mr. Stevens chose to ignore this fact and continued berating the rest of the band. Since it was time to leave, nobody really listened to him. Most fidgeted restlessly, shooting impatient glances at the clock, while others were now poised on the edges of their seats, ready to bolt as soon as they were released. Mr. Stevens noticed this and frowned petulantly, but gave up.

"Fine, get out of here. Make sure you're in your seats and ready to go at 7:00 sharp tomorrow morning!" With that, he stalked back to his office, pushing through the crowd of students who were all trying to fit through the door at once. He really had to finish that stupid paperwork today.

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